The Sophomore Effort
by Dumbledoor
Summary: Bella and Edward meet, and then things get awkward. AH.
1. Chapter 1

Summary—Bella and Edward meet, and then things get awkward.

So, FYI. This story's set sometime in the really near future, what I think 2020 would be. It shouldn't be a big deal, I just didn't want to deal with things being now. Yeah I'm weird.

* * *

I had just finished running errands when I decided to attend an art gallery for the first time. The poster outside of the little museum promised surrealism and folk art, two things I had zero knowledge of.

"What's it about?" I had asked the girl who was selling the ticket ($35).

She looked at me with an eyebrow raised. I tried not to let it intimidate me. "It's about the city. Murals and sculptures and other pieces to depict urban repression. The artist," she leaned over and pointed—with nails painted neon green—at the bottom of the brochure, "is Jasper Hale. He's from Texas or something, I think." She gave the brochure a tap before retreating back to her window and looking at me with the cold disinterest of a stranger.

"OK," I said, pocketing the ticket and walking off.

I returned to my apartment to find my roommate, Jessica, texting on the couch. I told her about my spontaneous purchase of the ticket. She understandably was amused.

"How very high brow of you. Going with anyone?"

"No."

"No?" She looked up from her phone, then, surveying the bag of groceries I had.

"Yeah. Did you want to come?"

"No, Mike's gonna be here." She grinned. "In fact, if you could meet some random guy and hook up over at his place, that'd be great. Angela's spending the night at Ben's, and it'd be nice—"

"No chance, sorry."

She shrugged. "Text me when you get back then."

"For God's sake do not go on my bed. Or my room. You hear me?" I went to bathroom and placed the goods—tampons, shampoo, the whole haul—wherever they needed to go.

Jessica leaned against the doorframe, pulling out her phone again and (presumably) texting. "That was one time. But yes. OK." A pause as she concentrated on typing. "What's your iTunes password? I wanna watch P and P and Z later."

"It's written on the fridge," I said.

I had about an hour and a half to kill before I left for the gallery, so Jessica and I just hung out and ate a bit. She helped me get ready and, at half past seven, I took a cab (I felt too lazy to walk even though it was close) and was ready for the night.

The taxi pulled up right in front of the museum. I paid the fare and stepped out to the semi-cool night air, conscious of the queue forming right outside the doors.

The museum from earlier now looked more imposing in the dusky sunset. It was summer, so people wore shorts and dresses and those annoyingly tall sneakers (with the LED laces) everyone wore these days. The place was a bit more crowded than I expected—mostly college kids, and probably people around my age.

When I walked in and showed ID, the security guard had to point me in the right direction, as, apparently, there was a flow to these things.

"Yes, see that piece with the desk? Start from there and work your way counter-clockwise. Enjoy the viewing, ma'am."

I looked at the piece. It looked like an orange chair with curled ends. Smiling, I went and followed the path.

Twenty minutes in and I saw not a hint of urban repression or folk art, but I did feel warm from the wine I drank.

I was currently looking at a photograph of some buildings. It was pretty, and I tried to think about what it meant without looking at the tiny gold-plated description box. But then the more I tried to think about it, the more conscious I became of thinking about it and, well, that sort of thinking never really was productive—

"What do you think?" a voice asked from behind me.

I froze for a second.

The question was asked again. "Of the photo? What do you think?"

I turned around, in a, Oh, you meant me, kind of way. The man was tall.

And handsome.

"Oh," I said, a little breathless. "I think it's… grand."

Grand?

The guy smirked. "Really," he teased.

"Yes." I mock-glared. "Why, what do you think?" I asked, expecting some sarcastic quip that may or may not charm the pants off of me.

The guy turned to the photo. Then, taking me completely by surprise, said, "I think it's about finding true love. Not any specific type of true love, but just finding it, and letting it take you where it wants to go."

I waited for a few seconds, but he continued to look at the picture, nodding to himself thoughtfully. "Yes. I haven't looked at it for long, but if I had to really think about it, it's probably the most romantic piece in the gallery."

My mouth dropped open. I took another look at the buildings, and contained the urge to snort. "Uh, if you don't mind my asking… How?" I mean… "As in, seriously? That's what you see? Where does it show that?"

He never once took his eyes off the picture, giving me a close-up view of his profile. He looked like the rich type, charming and personable and the envy of other boys. I noticed he wasn't wearing the latest in footwear. He had on good 'ol boat shoes.

He spoke. I noticed that he leaned forward, almost as if reading some tiny words on the wall. "Well, look at it."

_I see buildings of some nondescript city._ I looked on.

"This doesn't look like some ordinary street view. It's slightly tilted to the side, almost as if he'd just made a right turn. Right there." I felt his breath on the top of my head, such was the height difference between him and me. I let his words paint the picture for me. "I mean, yeah the buildings are great and all, but it's not really the focus here. See over here?"

He pointed to somewhere at the corner. It was small, and very far from where the picture was taken, but the outline looked clear enough.

"It's a woman," I said. I faced him to find him facing me. "You're saying he's following her?"

He nodded. "Or she."

Huh. When put like that, I supposed the picture _did_ look very romantic. It was even shot in the early evening, with the sky a perfect hazy orange.

He made a coughing sound beside me.

I narrowed my eyes.

He raised his wine glass to his mouth.

"Oh my god." I made a (weird) squeal of annoyance. "You're shitting me!"

Immediately, he shook his head, eyes wide. "No," he said, putting a hand on his vintage T-shirted chest. "I'm Edward."

I groaned, and, finally, he laughed a boisterous, annoying laugh, so deep and heartfelt I thought him maniacal.

I felt too incensed—not to mention idiotic—to laugh along with him. I read the description box.

_Architecture in the City. Jasper Hale. March 2020. A view of a crowded street in Houston._

I looked at the guy next to me. He'd stopped laughing and was eyeing me with a decidedly amused look.

"I'm sorry, but that was really good, you have to admit."

Some part of me really wanted to laugh, but I didn't. "Is this what you do, then? Prank on clueless girls at art galleries?"

"You consider yourself a clueless girl at an art gallery, then?" He tilted his head to the right, motioning for us to move along.

I stood on the spot.

"Aw, come on. Please?" He offered his arm but retrieved it when I motioned to swat it away.

"Why should I?" I said, although I started following him. We were in a crowded place, and it wasn't a big deal. It probably helped that he was good-looking and tall and talked so confidently.

His answering smile that awaited me only helped his case more and more.

"Let's move on to the next picture, eh? I think this one's about a man serenading his long-lost wife or something."

* * *

It was time to leave the art gallery. We stood outside the museum, among the crowd that was slowly dispersing homewards.

"Well I had fun," he said, giving me a crooked grin.

"Yeah, me too," I answered, nodding. "What was your name again?"

"Edward."

"Bella."

"Yeah, I remembered."

We shook hands.

We smiled and laughed in a nervous kind of way.

"You know what's gonna happen next, right?" He was grinning again and his deep voice nearly pulled me in right there.

_And then they kissed._

That was what my mind was directing, anyway. But in reality I laughed, a little nervously, and said, "You're gonna go psycho and kill me in a back alley?"

He shrugged. "There's that. Or we could meet again at another art gallery and trick you into thinking I'm the philosophical type."

"Sure," I said.

"But seriously, it _was_ fun. Too many people take these things too seriously. All that for a bunch of crap photos taken by a crap guy?"

"I think I've had enough of your opinion on Jasper Hale's artwork—and of Jasper Hale—to last a lifetime."

"I'm serious. I can't believe I have to write an article on this. At least you just have to look at it. I actually _talked_ to the guy, and he was all stand-offish, I barely got a question in before he bolted himself out from the room."

"That's what you get for being a pesky journalist."

"Yeah, yeah, Miss Grade School Teacher." He looked around. "So, uh, you going home now? Where're you headed?"

I grinned at his nervousness. It was adorable, and he made me feel more confident than I should. "I'm just going home."

"Calling a cab?"

"No, just walking."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so you can stop stalking me now."

"Fine, there goes my Saturday night," he said, mocking disappointment. "I guess I should go too. But anyway, you're not getting off easy."

I raised a brow.

"Give me your number. Or your last name," he frowned at the last bit. "Mine's Cullen, by the way. I'm Edward Cullen."

Without thinking about it too much, I said, "Bella Swan."

"Bella Swan," he repeated, nodding to himself. "OK, Bella Swan. Can I have your number now?"

He sensed my hesitation because he chuckled, looking up at me with suddenly shy eyes. "… Or not?"

I bit my lip. "No, I'll give you my number."

He handed me his phone, unlocking it and waiting.

"But?" he prompted.

But I'm too nervous to actually make this thing happen with you. I don't do this. I _never_ do this.

"But… don't expect much?"

He smiled, politely. I felt horrible because I knew I ruined the moment, the whole night, whatever was going on between us. Here was a decent guy, and I was dropping him like a hot potato.

He had a lot of girls in his contact list, I noticed.

I put down my fingerprint, letting the phone look through whatever it needed to look through to pull out my relevant info. _Add new contact?_ I pressed Yes.

"OK, I get it, I get it," he assured, taking back the phone. "Nice picture," he remarked before pocketing it. I stepped back.

"Sorry," I said, as if it would diffuse the awkward.

He cringed.

I resisted apologizing again. "I should go." I thumbed to the direction I was headed.

"All right. Well, have a good night," he said, staying where he stood.

"You too."

* * *

The next morning, I woke up with 3 texts from Edward. They were all from last night.

The first one, sent at 11:45 pm, said, _Hey, this is Edward Cullen. Just wanted to say it was nice meeting you._

The second text, sent at 12:07 am: _Also maybe I came off a little intense tonight, but I want to let you know I'm not that kinda guy.  
_  
Lastly, sent at 12:10 am: _We can be friends if you want to :) _

I stood up from bed, seeing it was almost 10 o'clock. It was a Sunday, meaning I really had nothing to do. I went ahead and ate breakfast, drank coffee, and cleaned the apartment a bit. It seemed Jess and Angela weren't here.

I returned to the phone sitting on my bed. I mulled over what to say as I sat on the couch outside.

This was stupid. I'd read the text. He probably knew it, too, because I kept read receipts on.

I turned on the TV. The _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies _credits were on pause.

Maybe I should watch the movie before I respond.

But it wasn't until 7 pm—ridiculously later—that I typed out a response: _Haha okay, we can be friends :D _

And that, dear friends, is how you shoot romance in the face.

Surprisingly, I got a response from him in ten minutes.

It said:_ Cool._

Double tap.

* * *

_Please_ tell me this kinda stuff has happened to you guys?!


	2. Chapter 2

Summary—Bella and Edward meet, and then things get awkward. But I, Dumbledoor the author, refuse to end it there!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Twilight_.

* * *

_Early December  
_

It wasn't 'til six months later that Edward and I saw each other again. I was in line for movie tickets. Jess and Mike already saw the movie, as did Angela and Ben. It took a while to muster up courage to come here, but I figured I waited on this too long to just watch it online or something.

But when I saw Edward walk in with two of his friends, my first instinct was to forget the movie and just bolt.

But I was spotted.

"Do you always do things by yourself?" he greeted as he sidled up next to me. "Bella, these are my friends Emmett and Eric. Guys, Bella."

"Hey," they both said, staying behind Edward. They looked amused. It bothered me a little.

"Hi, nice to meet you," I said, pleasantly. "And no, I don't," I answered to Edward.

"_Sure_," he said, grinning.

For a minute I guess we just looked at each other, probably trying to figure out if anything had changed since we last met. His hair was longer, I noticed, and he looked kinda cool wearing a jacket and scarf.

_Still handsome_, I thought, with bitter remembrance.

It was my turn at the ticket kiosk, so I turned around and bought a ticket.

"Hey," Edward said.

"Yes?" I waited for the _ding!_ in my phone to signal that the purchase was complete.

"You want company?"

"Oh, um," I said. I turned to see him smiling. His friends looked decidedly mischievous now. "You sure?"

"Yeah he's sure," one of them, the big guy Emmett, piped in, "Ed didn't want to see Interstellar anyway."

The other one, Eric, snickered. "Said the first two were _mediocre_ enough."

Edward glared at his friends. "Go. Away."

Emmett and Eric went away.

I gave a nervous chuckle. Hopefully he wouldn't mind too much that I chose _The Notebook_ to watch. If he did, he didn't show it as he bought his own ticket.

"Hey you want some popcorn?"

"No, thanks, I'm full already," I said. "Is this a date?"

"Not if you don't want it to be," he said, not missing a beat. "We just haven't spoken to each other much, you know, and then I saw you and thought this would be much better than spending the night with those two."

"OK."

We seated ourselves somewhere in the back.

"Can I just say," he talked close to my ear, after we settled in, "that I feel ridiculously lucky to see you again."

"Thanks," I said.

"And single," he added, smirking.

I scowled, but I laughed anyway. "What gave it away?"

He shook his head and laughed. "The fact that no one's beating me up right now for one. Also there _is_ the fact that you're watching a remake of one of the sappiest romances ever, alone, on a Saturday night."

"I know, I know, my life is so sad." I nodded solemnly.

"Nah, you're all right," he said breezily, sitting back. "I like it, actually. A lot."

"It's not like I do this _all_ the time. You just catch me at weird times. I swear this is the first time I've gone to the movies by myself."

"Well, I'm glad I caught you tonight."

"Me too."

"Why _were_ you going to the movies by yourself? I mean, was there a particular reason, or did you just feel like it?"

Actually, there _was_ a particular reason (sort of), I just didn't want to tell it.

He waited.

"I broke up with my boyfriend last week," I said in a small voice. "Well no, it's more like _he_ broke up with me."

His eyes widened. "Wait, was it that guy from your work?"

He remembered that? "Oh, no, it wasn't. It was the guy after that, James."

"I don't remember you ever mentioning him," he muttered. "Wow, we _really_ didn't talk for long, did we?"

I nodded. If I checked my phone, I knew that I'd find exactly five weeks' worth of messaging between Edward and me, after the night at the art gallery. I also knew that the volume of messages and word space that _I_ responded with had declined by _a lot_ after he'd told me he was interested in this one girl, Tanya.

I felt horrible remembering it. It had been childish and cruel of me to just stop responding to his texts.

"Sorry to hear that," he said. He shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I mean it's not a big deal. I'm pretty much over it," I whispered, because the lights were dimming and everyone was getting quieter. "But yeah, I kinda just needed to get out. Someplace that didn't involve alcohol or strangers." I shuddered at the pathetic attempt that was Jessica, Angela, and I at a club last week. Never again.

Edward must've been watching me. He laughed. "In that case, I'm _really_ glad I bumped into you."

I really liked him. How could I not? I was stupid then; hopefully I wasn't being stupid now.

I bit my lip, feeling giddy with the butterflies dancing in my stomach. "... And single?"

He nodded. "And single."

We stayed quiet after that.

* * *

The movie wasn't bad. Not as good as the original, I guess, but not bad.

It was still seven in the evening when the movie ended, so we decided to get coffee someplace. But along the way, we ran into his friend Eric. He looked frantic, searching along the streets for something. Apparently it was Edward he was looking for because he ran to us when he saw him.

"Edward! Edward, I've been trying to call you, man!"

"Shut off my phone," Edward explained, glancing at me. "Why, what's wrong—"

"Emmett's in the hospital!"

"_Why?_"

Apparently, Emmett got in a fight with his girlfriend's ex, who'd also gone to see _Interstellar 3_ with his buddies.

"I swear to God Royce was drunk or something, he kept coming at us and insulting Em. He threw the first punch and all, and then everything went crazy!"

"Where's he now?" asked Edward.

"I told you, in the hospital! Someone called 911 and then the cops came and then the ambulance and they took both of them away! They were both pretty beat up—you know they're pretty big guys," Eric was breathing heavily, from excitement or exhaustion, I couldn't tell.

"Is he OK?" I asked.

"Yeah, he is," Eric said, looking at me. He seemed uncomfortable with my being there. Maybe he was just one of those shy guys. God knows I'm one of those shy girls. But I was kinda hoping I'd get along with Edward's friends. I realized I was getting ahead of myself.

My phone vibrated. It was a text from Jessica. _Buy pasta and mozzarella! We're cooking tonight._

They must've thought I'd go straight home after the movie—which, in all fairness, was a really on point assumption.

"So? You coming, man?" I heard Eric ask Edward.

"Well, I don't know," replied Edward, looking at me.

"Are you kidding me? Of course you should visit him," I said, "Tell him to get better for me."

"I mean, are you sure? He's probably fine..."

"Edward."

He nodded, albeit begrudgingly. I was flattered.

"Go," I said, smiling. "I have to go buy some things at the store anyway." I waved my phone around, as if that explained it.

"OK then," he said. "I'll talk to you later."

His hand went and touched my elbow.

"Huh?" I said.

He pulled me toward him and quickly pecked me on the cheek.

"I had fun, Bella. See 'ya later." He pulled back with a grin, walking backwards to follow Eric (I didn't even want to know _his_ reaction).

"Yeah bye," I could only whisper.

* * *

The next day, I couldn't keep my hands off my phone, although I knew better than to expect him to call me. He'd messaged last night saying he'd be busy because of Emmett.

I understood. Didn't stop my disappointment though.

"So did you kiss him?" Jess asked as we—Angela, Jess, and I—watched _Prisoner of Azkaban_.

"_No_!'

Angela giggled. "He sounds so sweet. _Edward_ Cullen. I must've heard that somewhere."

"I mean, do you read _The Paperweight_? He writes for them."

She frowned, turning back to the movie. "Hmm, maybe not then."

"Anyway, you should totally invite him to dinner with us this Saturday. No more fifth wheeling for you!"

"You think so?"

Jess looked at me in a 'duh' sort of way. "Of course! I want to know who exactly can charm the pants off of Miss Prud-ey Two Shoes. I bet he looks _way _better in person."

"You looked through his profile?"

This time Angela grinned, "Guilty." We laughed.

"I guess," I said.

Jess giggled. "Oh, come _on_, Bella. I know you're more excited than we are. How long has it been since you slept with someone?"

I shrugged. "Um, James, hello? It hasn't been _that_ long."

"James doesn't count; he never made you come."

"Oh, shut up," I mumbled. Mike Newton (her oh-so-perfect boyfriend) had turned out to be a decent lay (surprisingly), and, believe me, Jessica reminds us of this fact every single time, disgustingly divulging the intimacies of Michael Reginald Newton.

* * *

The weeks passed by. Edward and I progressed as typical couples did in their mid-twenties. We went on dates all over the city, as suggested by both our friends, and anything else we could think of.

We kissed a lot, in parks and malls and the streets and small get-togethers held in friends' apartments. I never thought I'd be the affectionate type, but then I'd never met anyone like Edward either.

I felt myself change day by day, smiling quite often and reading less depressing novels and even so far as liking my job the way it was.

I thought I was happy. And I suppose you _could_ say that technically I'd never been happier.

One night, I was by myself at home when my phone rang. The number was Ben's, Angela's boyfriend. Strange.

"Hello?"

"Bella?" It was Angela. Her voice was uncharacteristically loud.

"Yeah?"

"Bella, oh my god Ben proposed! Ben proposed! I'm getting married! I'm getting married!" She screeched, and I heard laughter in the background, and loud smooching noises, and it clashed spectacularly with the silence of the apartment.

I said I was happy for her. I asked how he proposed.

I'll spare you the _ohmigods_ and _Can you believe its_, and describe to you myself how Ben proposed.

They went to the Milky Way Diner, where they had their very first official date. It was their seventh anniversary, so she had an inkling he would do what he did. Halfway through the meal, Ben just stood up, got down on one knee, and, amid the cheers and whoops of the patrons and waiters, he'd gone and asked the question.

_Cliche_, I immediately thought. But that didn't stop the twinge of envy that struck me.

"That's so sweet," I had to say, because she sounded ridiculously happy and I would not ruin that with sarcasm. Maybe with Jess.

We hung up and I was left to my thoughts that night, left mulling over the strange and unwelcome reaction to my roommate's engagement.


End file.
